Addiction
by aeliuned
Summary: She had always been called smart, but if being stupid meant she could lie to herself and believe it, at that moment she would've traded all her intelligence for some blissful idiocy. Scorpius/Rose. HP is all Rowling's; now it applies to all chapters.
1. Addiction

_A/N: welcome! First of all, thank you for taking the time to check this out! Second, I started this nearly 5 years ago and let it go until April 2012. Needless to say, I've changed a good amount as a person and writer since 2008. As such, when I reread what I had written, I facepalmed at how I had portrayed Rose. However, I didn't want to completely rewrite everything. So I deleted some of the unhealthiest chapters, revamped some, and went back to writing. The writing style and content are different in the later chapters because of the time gap. _

_So here it is! I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

He made her wonder, sometimes, why he was her obsession.

The conceited smirk. Unkempt white-gold hair. Lean, tall, graceful. Pale skin, sharp features, grey eyes that made her melt whenever they settled on her.

"You're worse than your Mudblood mother." he had said disgustedly.

"Do you want me to teach him a lesson about messing with Gryffindors?" James had offered dangerously upon seeing her shuffle into the common room.

"No! No, don't do that!" she had cried. "I'm fine, really, I'm fine. Just a little rattled, that's all."

She was used to his worried, skeptical looks. She would've preferred Al's company to James's, but Albus had wound up in Slytherin. Maybe if he was here she wouldn't be like this.

She had been known for her fiery personality, of conversing animatedly with her Gryffindor peers. Now she spent most of her time hunched over in armchairs, quiet and wrapped in self-imposed solitude, doing schoolwork because that was the only thing she could do to keep her mind off things. As it was, her grades were the same. But her strength seemed to diminish, and the absent-minded and vague doodles and scrawls multiplied, all bearing an embellished and distinct, abnormally clear "S" and "M."

She watched him and pretended, pretended his smiles were for her, that he laughed for her, that his arms encircled _her,_ instead of whoever had caught his eye of late. It didn't matter that a girl was at his arm as long as she was allowed to pretend.

"Rose...are you okay?"

Vague nods and smiles. "Yeah, of course I'm okay."

A lie just like the lies she told herself before the classes he was in - lies about how she hated him, despised his name, his lineage. But then he would enter the room and she would cave.

If only his words didn't chafe as much.

"Get over him," Albus had advised with in a worried voice. "You'll only hurt in the end."

Indeed it hurt. But she indulged in the pain that _he_ caused, simply because _he_ caused it. Stupid.

* * *

It was only too long before the pity began. Not the compassionate type of pity; the kind that one would toss at beggars in disgust accompanied perhaps by a bent Knut or two. It was the kind she could never have stood for from anyone before, let alone him, but right now she'll settle for any kind of attention.

* * *

A rare moment with him by her side working late into the night. Pity still undoubtedly laces his gaze as she writes with a shaking hand and tattered wits. He puts down his quill, signifying that he's done with his portion of the work; she isn't too far behind.

"You look pathetic, Weasley."

She doesn't answer, but revels in the sound of his voice. She casts a dim eye his way, and a spark ignites her dull gaze when she realizes that he is scrutinizing her. Her heart jolts forward, and her already unraveling nerves begin burning away in earnest. She suddenly wishes that she had been taking care of herself; becomes painfully conscious of how scraggly she must appear.

"What the hell does it matter to you?" she demands, reaching far back enough to muster the type of nastiness she used to infuse every word with.

"You sound awful, too," he continues, ignoring her. "What's gotten into you recently, anyway?"

_You,_ she wants to reply. But that's equivalent to suicide, no matter how much her nature demands that she tell him the truth.

His eyes trail down to her parchment. His eyes widen, and she glances down. Horror rears and takes over as she realizes that his initials are scrawled in the margins on half the work she's done.

His gaze latches onto hers incredulously; she's completely helpless, immobile, and looks away immediately, pretending she can't feel his eyes burning into her face.

"My name?" he asks, disbelief thick and heavy in his voice.

She doesn't respond. Her gaze has gone glassy as she retreats deeper into herself before the rejection hits her head-on.

She thinks she sees something like wonder pass through his piercing grey eyes, but her eyes are so dim she could think that she saw desire in his gaze, simply because that is what she wants most. And desire is certainly not what is in his eyes now.

She looks back down at her paper, bracing herself for his searing disgust, her chest clenching in dreadful anticipation. So much for having ever tried to hide it.

"You forgot the 'H,'" he remarks, and leaves.

She opens her eyes in amazement and wonder.

He has not rejected her. Not outright, anyway.

He has accepted her obsession.

_He doesn't hate her._

Elation floats through her limbs.

"Wait!" her treacherous voice cries out.

He doesn't look back, but it's easy to imagine he is amused; that a smile - no, a smirk - tilts his lips before he turns a corner and out of sight.


	2. Secrets

_A/N: **REVISED**. YES. _

* * *

At least he hadn't noticed when she had come across the two. It could've been horribly awkward. She could have cried right then and there. She could have stumbled or knocked something over and gotten their attention and he might have laughed at her.

She had only wanted to let her reveries roam as she sat in that corner where he had seemed to accept her infatuation with him. She had only wanted to smile at the memories...

Instead, she had found him with someone else.

Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.

Holy _shit_ she was being idiotic, crying over a boy like this! Someone who wasn't even available, someone who wasn't even vaguely obligated to be single, someone who had every right to go and kiss anyone he liked...

She had always been called smart, but if being stupid meant she could lie to herself and believe it, at that moment she would've traded all her intelligence for some blissful idiocy.

* * *

"You feeling alright?" Alia asked softly, tapping her arm during dinner.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Alia Jones, one year Rose's junior, with whom Rose had become friends upon meeting, had a way with never prying, something that drew people to trust her and confide in her. She was rather quiet in comparison to the rest of their troupe (which wasn't saying much, but still) but that hadn't kept her from becoming part of their inner circle. In a way, Rose trusted Alia more than she trusted Albus. But not enough to tell her the truth. And Alia rarely pressed her for information. She was reliable and always there, ever supportive, and Rose was grateful for it. But sometimes she wished Alia would push her for the truth, because keeping secrets was never Rose's strong suit and she needed an excuse to confess.

* * *

James strode into the common room, an expression of distaste and annoyance set stubbornly on his features, breaking the relative quiet as he harrumphed onto an armchair after ousting a first-year from the seat. He knocked over a stack of books and an open ink bottle on the table to perch his feet on the edge.

"What's shot a stick up your arse?" Hugo asked, scowling, as Alia siphoned away the spilled ink and helped him re-stack the toppled books.

"Fucking Malfoy deducted points because I was snogging Sara Bennett in some fourth floor hallway," he grumbled, taking out his wand and halfheartedly practicing some charm he had learned earlier in the day.

"Something tells me that isn't the end of the story," Lily said, shooting him a skeptical look, glancing up from her homework.

"I _might_ have jinxed him," James said, a grudging smile finding its way to his lips, but it didn't last long. "It's just that he's probably doing the same thing right now, maybe on the same floor, the dirty hypocrite."

"What do you mean he's doing the same thing?" Lily asked sharply, briefly abandoning her quill and parchment.

"Bloody git has gone and gotten himself a girlfriend," James rolled his eyes. "Ugly prat thinks he's the shit because of it. The girl isn't even that pretty."

"What's her name?" Lily asked, her voice taking on a hint of the tone that her brother's had.

"Something Terry. Nola Torrance. I don't know. Don't care."

"Nora Terrence," Alia corrected him absentmindedly from behind her book. "Ravenclaw girl. If she isn't pretty, she isn't ugly, either, James."

"Probably some doe-eyed airhead with big tits," Lily said, punctuating her comment with a violent stab with her quill; the tip broke from the force, leaving behind a black splotch on the parchment. She repaired the quill and kept writing with renewed, if not peeved, vigor. "Chauvinistic scum."

Rose said nothing, opting to busy herself with a textbook. But she found that she couldn't concentrate at all; instead of focusing on the words on the page, her mind kept playing the scene of Scorpius and his new girlfriend kissing in the library over and over.

* * *

Another meal spent in dejected silence while everyone else was talking. She was careful not to look anywhere close to the Slytherin table, instead choosing to stare at her toast and tea like they could make her feel better. She was in her own little world, lost in her thoughts and her inability to not think about anything but how the Ravenclaw's hands had been all over him; how he had touched her, his hands and body all control and deliberateness.

Someone shoved their way into the seat next to her, breaking her masochistic reveries. There was a smattering of "hey Albus" before everyone returned to their conversations.

"How you feeling?" Albus asked, nudging her.

"I'm fine," she said automatically. His lack of response told her he didn't believe her at all, so she made a show of eating her breakfast with as much zeal as she could muster.

"You shouldn't let him do this to you," he said quietly. "It isn't healthy."

"Bugger off, Al," she said, though her heart wasn't in it. No, she sounded tired and a little sad. "Besides, how are you so sure I'm this way because of him?"

"I know you better than anyone else, that's why," he said with a small smile. She couldn't help nudging him and give him a feeble smile in return.

"Well, I'm glad to inform you that this has absolutely nothing to do with him," she told him as loftily as she could. It hadn't worked very well at all, because Albus only raised an eyebrow. She sighed, frustrated. "Look - you telling me to not get hung up about this isn't going to change anything. Hasn't it occurred to you that if I could, I already would have done it?"

The skepticism was still apparent in his face, but it was weaker, marred by uncertainty. Indeed, he knew her too well. Anybody else would have believed her immediately. After a beat, he shrugged and helped himself to a piece of toast.

"At least I can say I tried," he said, reaching over to grab some marmalade. A few moments passed as they ate in silence; after he had finished his bread he got up to return to the Slytherin table. As he was about to leave he added, "He broke up with her, by the way."

The rush of relief and happiness that followed was nearly guilt-inducing. It took all she had not to let a grin spread over her face. She spent the rest of the day looking down, giddy, joy hovering about her mouth and shining in her eyes though she tried hard to control and conceal it. She rejoined the social fray and ignored how everyone was somewhat taken aback by her sudden cheerfulness. No one questioned her abrupt change in demeanor, and she didn't bother to tell them.

Some secrets were worth keeping, she thought with a smile.


	3. At Her Worst

_A/N: **COMPLETELY ALTERED**. The contents of this chapter have been totally changed. Even the chapter title. I made him rather horrible here. _

* * *

At first he had thought it was a joke. A Weasely, fancy _him_? He would've sooner believed the Potter girl falling for him. His father had barely been able to stand his friendship with Albus. He would probably have the girl expelled if he heard news of Rose's obsession.

Yes, _obsession_, because there was no other word to describe it.

He thought it was ridiculous and weird. He was bewildered by it: what could he have possibly done to get her attention like that? He felt he could get her to do anything, if he wished. It was absolutely pitiful.

If anything, she should hate him! He had insulted her, her parents, her family. He had been so sure that she had loathed every fiber of his being. She had looked at him with such disgust, once.

When Albus had told her to be careful with her, end of fifth year, he had scoffed. Then, when the Potter had told him that Rose Weasley was thoroughly infatuated with him, he had been full of mistrust. He had initially thought it was some idiotic, immature, girlish ploy to get him to fall in love with her, then crush him with the artificial nature of the whole plot. How stupid and young did they think he was? He had been disappointed that she would resort to such moronic "tricks." For a while he had considered going along with it, but he had decided not to stoop to such imbecilic levels. Instead, he had been more venomous than ever.

But then he had been able to see the difference.

She was quiet, she was withdrawn. She did not meet his eyes. She appeared to have stopped eating and sleeping, and he began to wonder if she was sick. Then he wondered if someone had given her some newly invented love potion.

Then, the night at the library. Embellished "SM"s. Not even a denial of her feelings.

Scorpius had been duly horrified.

A Weasley. Enamored of _him._ A Malfoy, of all people - the Malfoy she had been at odds with for the past five years; the scion of a pureblood family that had called hers blood traitors for as long as he had bothered to learn.

It was strangely satisfying, though, knowing that his enemy had fallen for him. It was also unnerving. No, "unnerving" still wasn't the right word for it. It was _unnatural._

He was intrigued.

It was a perverse curiosity, wanting to see how deep her feelings ran. It was monstrous, even, to...experiment...with someone like that. The power to sway someone like that was something new altogether, and he was fascinated. He had fooled around with a few girls in the past, but they had been as attached to him as he had been to them: scarcely. But Rose...

She was a maverick: unpredictable, brilliant, even volatile.

He was enthralled. She might do or try anything. Or perhaps she would do nothing, or eventually go against her very nature. Perhaps she would overcome it.

So he set himself to see her at her worst.

_(Did he want to see her at her best?)_


	4. Him and Her

She should've suspected something a long time ago.

She should've suspected something when Lily Potter, seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, had hesitated in taking the Snitch in the match against Slytherin; when Lily called him scum the day he had snogged the Terrence girl. Lily had seldom joined James and the others when they were insulting him. Lily had almost always been carefully neutral.

She _really_ should've been suspecting something when she had caught Lily lingering a little too long at _that_ corner of the library; how her eyes strayed to Scorpius too often whenever they were in the same vicinity. But when Lily danced into the Gryffindor commons, a brilliant smile on her face, blushing slightly, and announced that Scorpius had asked her to accompany him on a Hogsmeade trip, the news hit her like a hex cast square at her chest.

"WHAT?" James yelps. "_Malfoy!_ You didn't say - oh, Merlin, you didn't say _yes,_ did you?"

Her heart plummeted and torrents of bitter jealousy warred with loyalty and love for her younger cousin.

Lily was beautiful. _She_ was not.

She should be happy for Lily - happy that Lily had so easily obtained what she wanted most in the world. From that perspective it was impossible, but she wasn't strong enough to look at it any other way. That being said, she wasn't so weak as to not act otherwise.

"I'm really happy for you, Lily," she forced out a smile, but her voice breaks on the word "happy."

Lily hugged her, beaming, and danced away.

_(No one asked her since when her opinion of Malfoy had changed enough that she wasn't backing James up. No one asked why she seemed to withdraw ever the more. But the concerned, worried look that Alia sent her way is enough to assure her that those questions are on everyone's mind.)_

* * *

It is one thing to know your obsession is going out with a faceless, nameless girl, and a whole other creature to know your obsession is going out not only with a girl whose face and name you know, but is a close friend and relative. She couldn't nurse the semi-satisfying petty spite that she would've been afforded if the girl had been a stranger. As it was, she knew she should be happy for Lily - happy that Lily was the object of his heated glances, gentle-laughing words, and soft touches.

* * *

Returning to _that_ corner of the library was the stupidest thing she could have done. She had promised herself that _this_ was the last time; that she would, with this final visit, cast him away from her thoughts.

She had seen it. Them.

Her lips.  
Her hands.  
His hair.  
Her eyes.  
His hands.  
Her voice.  
His lips.  
Her neck.

She had no right to feel betrayed. She had left without a noise.

* * *

_Her hair.  
His body.  
Her body.  
His voice.  
"Rose."  
Silence._

* * *

The next morning, Lily marched to the House table, declaring in a curt voice that she had broken up with Malfoy, that two-faced git.

She should not have been happy - not been happy that he had hurt Rose; that they had broken up. But she was, and she couldn't bring herself to feel sorry.


	5. Grey, color of clouds

_A/N: not much change here, but enough to make it a bit more bearable._

* * *

The first four years at Hogwarts had been normal. Nothing big, nothing dramatic, just...nothing. But she had been reasonably happy, and her grades had always been good. She'd never had a boyfriend and wasn't particularly interested in having one. Her rivalry with Malfoy had been strictly that: a rivalry.

* * *

Fifth year was different. She didn't know why, but it was. As she watched Alia hold hands with James, she felt a sort of envy. Not for James, but for what they shared. Even after they split up - Alia and James just shrugged when it was mentioned, saying the spark had just...faded - the envy remained, quiet, but at the edge of her mind (heart?). Or maybe it was longing. Her relationship with Malfoy hadn't improved - on the contrary, she was more vicious at every encounter, and he mirrored this, until Albus had been forced to intervene when they had nearly come to blows.

As they struggled to get past Albus to tear each other apart, she noticed something.

His eyes were _grey_. Not a deep, murky _gray_, but a light, almost silvery, grey. Pale grey. _Grey_. Grey, the color of clouds.

She had turned on her heel and swiftly left the scene, much to the bewilderment of her cousin and enemy. Since when did she notice what color his eyes were?

From then on, she had sniped at him whenever he so much as looked at her. He, in turn, had become increasingly malicious. It was in fifth year that he started saying Mudblood. She doubted he even sensed the inner turmoil within her during that time.

But Albus did. He saw the subtle confusion in her eyes whenever she looked at him and her heart beat a little faster. He saw her dreading any physical contact with him, because when they touched, she recoiled with the fizzing sensation that buzzed underneath her skin. He saw how careful she was to avoid eye-to-eye contact, for she almost lost herself in that misty grey. Grey, the color of clouds.

Her cousin had asked her what was going on, and she knew he that in that question he was silently accusing her of denial.

* * *

_"I have no idea what you're talking about," she snaps. "I hate Malfoy more than James does."_

_"Alright, I believe you," he says, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. But his eyes betray the truth._

_He doesn't believe her_ one single bit.

* * *

She hadn't understood. _How_ and _why_ flew about her head even as she did her best to focus herself on other things. Their altercations had become more and more violent, landing them in trouble more than once, and with each encounter the hurt had settled deeper and deeper into her chest. Towards the end of the year she had begun to cry after their fights. It was probably a good thing that her OWL's had been as demanding as they had turned out to be, panic-inducing-ly stressful or not, because it was only then that he was completely out of her thoughts.

The end of term, bringing the usual clambering onto the train to go back home, had seemed to her the greatest mercy she could have been given. The summer that followed was too busy for her to dwell too much on her conflicted feelings for him - enough for her to believe by the end of August that it was all over.

* * *

Beginning of sixth year. Platform 9 3/4. Laughing with Lily, teasing Hugo, talking with Albus, tossing her hair at James. It was in the middle of a lighthearted argument that James smirk-sneered and nodded his head conspiratorially at a tall, thin figure that was half-hidden by smoke.

_Her heart stumbled, and_ ran_._

He had grown over the summer. His blond hair was different, more natural, less restrained. As before, he was lean, graceful, controlled. His features were striking, and his eyes were ever the same: grey. Grey, the color of clouds. And they had caught hers.

Her heart raced even faster, as if desperate to leave her chest. It pumped dismay throughout her whole body as she detected the mockery in his gaze.

A Herculean effort, and she returned the gaze. He smirked - her heart pounded - and looked away.

James never saw. But Albus did. He had looked at her with that infuriatingly knowledgable glint in his eye. Fuming, she had turned her back on her cousin, her face burning. Albus saw the surrender in how she had turned away, and he nodded slightly to himself with grim triumph.

* * *

That was it. No more lies. No more self-deception. No more denial. It all hurt too much; the toll too great for her to act, to rationalize; to pretend that everything was still the same when it oh-so exquisite-painfully wasn't. She could no longer muster vicious laughter, spiteful smirks, heated fights, and it was taking all the fire and light and warmth out of her.

Because it had never been in her nature to hide anything when she was as transparent as glass, and there was no way she could ever tell the truth. Not to him, not to her family, not to her friends, not to anyone. And she wishes not even herself.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks for reading :) Please review!_


	6. Nothing

_A/N: Yet another revamped chapter. _

* * *

She hadn't even realized that her situation could have gotten worse until it actually happened. He seemed to have a new girl hanging on his arm every day. The only good thing she could salvage from this turn of events was that it meant he didn't truly feel something for any of those girls. It wouldn't have hurt _too_ much if that had been it.

But he was ignoring her completely. He didn't even insult, scorn or laugh at her. It was as if she didn't exist in his world, through his eyes.

It was as if she was truly _nothing_ to him.

* * *

No one knew why she was like this and she would've been glad that nobody knew if she weren't so hollow. The only person who would've been able to figure out it out wasn't there at all anymore. This could only be so because he wasn't in their House or because he couldn't bear to be around her anymore knowing that his best friend was bringing all of this on.

Though too numb to care either way, she wasn't so numb that she didn't know the truth was the latter and that it should've made her more pissed off than a harried Blast-Ended Skrewt.

* * *

She's never had this much trouble eating and sleeping before. It has become strangely difficult to get out of bed these days, like all her will - the willfulness that had defined her before - has been drained from her. Eating becomes a choice, not a necessity. She starts missing classes and hiding from people, avoiding looking at them straight on. She stops taking care of herself; lets her hair rage and tangle away and spend several days in the same set of clothes (robes hid everything anyway). And even though she hides herself in bed, lethargic and listless, rest never really comes. She spends all day and night staring at the walls and swaddling herself in blankets, wishing she could fall asleep because that's the only refuge she can think of.

* * *

"Miss Weasley, if you don't start showing up to your classes, I will have to send an owl to your family."

She doesn't say anything. She just nods silently, looking down, her eyes rimmed with shadowy half-moons and thoughts whirling behind the blank stare.

* * *

"Rose, you need to stop doing this," Alia pleads. "I don't know what's going on and I don't know get why you won't tell me, but _please_. You have to try to get better - for us, if you can't do it for yourself."

She hears only the last part. She obediently shovels food into her mouth (it tastes and feels like ashes) and does schoolwork with mechanical perfection. It astounds everyone around her, who had thought she was a lost cause and would fail all of her NEWT's, and lends her an excuse to be as vacant as she is. She even bests him - a feat that once would have made her fiercely pleased - but now she doesn't care.

* * *

There's a voice in her head that constantly tells her she's being embarrassingly pathetic. What could she say to that, anyway, when the statement came to her mind in the form of his voice? It's the most she could keep of him, a thought she keeps despite how painfully pitiful it is.

* * *

She doesn't really feel anything. In a way it's easier, being so numb. It's something that fringes on improvement from the hiding-tears _acheacheache_ and the tomorrow-hope that she had felt before. She doesn't have to really _deal_ with anything anymore, she just...sits through it. Constant and unmoving, plowing through things instead of like before, when she had seared right through everything, always in danger - one way or another - of burning out. It's just that nobody thought she ever would.


	7. Turns Around

_A/N: It's been quite a while since I last wrote any fanfiction...at this point I am considering 1) rewriting this whole fic; 2) finishing it but having weird writing style continuity issues; 3) leaving it unfinished, or 4) taking it down. Opinions?_

* * *

Rose was the kind of girl who put herself into things wholeheartedly or not at all. She was the kind of girl who hated and loved in violent shades or black or white. She was the kind of girl who loved to be the one to dive headfirst into things, confident and reckless - and the girl, who, if she got caught in some corner, would rather face the consequences than worm her way out.

She was the kind of girl who wore her heart on her sleeve.

She was the kind of girl who could not stand not getting what she wanted, because holy _fuck_ she if she wanted something she was going to sweat fire and blood for it. And if she didn't get it still...

"Crushed" was the understatement of her life. She would drown herself in unfeeling, in cold, clear-cut things and corners. She would rather be gloriously numb than feel the _ache_, the disappointment. She would rather be spared that _twisting_ and the _runheartrun _whenever she saw him in the hallways - but most of all she doesn't want to feel the way that twisting tightens and rises to her throat, beckons tears to her eyes and humiliates her. Never has she hated herself more than this. (It's a shame, really, that she can't hate the person who's causing this, even if she wanted to.)

Once, when she had cried as a child over an infantile crush and rejection, her mother had gathered her in her arms and told her she should be proud of having felt that way about anyone at all. That she should be proud of how open-hearted she was - and those words had comforted her. Something would work out someday, even if that someday was so distant she couldn't see it; even if getting that someday meant she had to chase it and drag her ragtag sleeves along the ground and hope that when she finally reached that _someday_, her heart wouldn't be too beat up for him to want it.

She was a proud girl when she could muster it. When she had the heart or energy. But right now, as the end of the year looms closer and closer, she barely cares that people whisper or go silent when she's in the room. She's stopped caring that people see her cry. She's even stopped reacting to people asking if she's doing okay, and they've learned that all the questions in the world won't make things any better. At least they could say they tried, she supposes.

* * *

"Rose," Alia nudges her. "We can't do all your packing for you...we have to be out of here in a few hours - "

Rose flicks her wand noncommittally, and things after clumps of things - clothes, books, other items of little interest - fling themselves into her suitcases. She flicks her wand her again, and her bags barely clamp shut. She barely notices Alia biting her lip in worry as the two of them make their way to the train, their suitcases in tow.

James, Hugo, and Lily are there waiting for them, and as a group they file into the train. They manage to fit into a single compartment, bags and all, with a small space left just in case another member of the family were to show up. Rose's heart twinges a little, knowing who they were saving the seat for, where that missing member was...no, _who_ that missing family member was _with_.

The train starts to chug. She fades out the conversation.

She dozes in and out, staring out the window. It's gray outside, and cloudy, soon to rain. She wonders how she'll spend her summer. She wonders if there will be any family get-togethers. She wonders if any family members will bring friends.

She wonders when she got to be so pathetic.

Someone raps on the compartment door. At Lily's "come in" it slides open - Rose's eyes rise to the newcomers and her heart _ka-thump_s once - hard - before breaking into a frenzied rhythm.

"We only have space for one," James scowls fiercely. Scorpius looks down coolly at him from beside Albus.

"Whoever said I came here for your company?" the Malfoy scoffs. "Albus here wanted to drop by. _I_ don't intend to stay."

"How about you piss off entirely?" Lily snaps. "And you," - she turns angrily to her brother - "Who said you could bring that scum here?"

"Who gave you the power to control who I'm friends with?" Albus retorts. "Besides, it's not like he wants to be here. I only wanted to say hello and see how everyone was doing."

Rose does her best to ignore how his eyes flicker toward her before he fixes her gaze on Alia. Rose does her best not to look at the blond boy standing next to her cousin, and fails miserably. Rose does her best to swallow the lump that has appeared in her throat and hold back the tears that are only a badly placed glance away from tumbling into a full-on sob-storm.

"'Scuse me," she mumbles as she stands up to leave.

"Rose - " Alia starts.

Rose bites her lip, shakes her head, and shoves her way out of the compartment. She swings her body a bit too far to the left, but her motion isn't broken by a soft collide with a lean body. No, it is deliberately avoided, and she stumbles instead. She bites her lip harder and does her best to gather her broken-china pride as she directs herself to the bathroom.

She lets the tears fall. She lets the humiliation smolder in those tears and allows the pain to overwhelm and shake her as she half-holds her breath, wanting to hide this shame from ears that might be loitering right outside.

She wants so badly for him to demand what's wrong like he had done earlier in the year. She wants him to look at her and smirk - hell, at this point, she would settle for just _looking_. She can't remember the last time he looked her way without his eyes glazing over her.

She wants him more than she can remember wanting anything else. She wants just a little bit of him - a glance, a smirk, a smile - and that want itself makes her hurt.

"Oi, lady! You've been in there for about twenty minutes and I've _really_ got to piss!"

"Sorry," she says, her voice thick from crying. She blows her nose as quietly as she can and unlocks the door. She flinches when she recognizes the girl waiting for her to vacate the bathroom.

"Erm," Nora Terrence teeters back and forth impatiently. "If you could just move..."

"You," she says hoarsely. "You and..."

"Look, ginger," she snaps. "I've been waiting to take a leak for half an hour! Now if you'd - hey, hey, why're you crying?"

"I'b sorry," she chokes. "Go ahead," She staggers out from the doorway.

The Ravenclaw continues to rock back and forth, eyeing Rose uncertainly.

"You stay right here," the girl tells her. "I'll be two minutes."

Rose nods. She'll take any excuse not to go back just yet.

The door re-opens. The girl wipes her hands on her jeans and appraises Rose with a quick up-down sweep of her eyes.

"Me and?"

"Hbb?" she sniffles.

"You said 'you and,'" Nora said. "Me and what?"

"Oh," Rose falters. "N-nothing."

"Nothing my ass," she snorts. "Tell m - "

"Crying again, Weasley?"

Rose's heart runs miles and miles ahead without her. She is left to turn and stare at the boy looking down at her with all the contempt in the world.

"Keep moving," Nora jerks her thumb behind them. "Nothing to see here. Nothing involving you, anyway."

_If only you knew_, Rose thinks dully.

"I highly doubt it involves you, either," Scorp points out coolly. "It's not like you two have met before."

A hint of a sneer as he says those words. Rose's heart _ka-thump_s once - hard - and she holds tight of the voice struggling to rise past the lump in her throat.

"What do you _want_, Malfoy?"

The spite in her voice surprises even her. She sounds ragged and her nose is still rather stuffy, but somehow she has found enough spirit in herself to be angry.

No. "Somehow" is not the right word. Of course she should be angry. She should be furious. He has completely ignored her for the past she-doesn't-even-know how many weeks, and now that she's in a humiliatingly vulnerable position, he chooses to say something? Only now that she's exposed like this, he chooses to strike? She should be furious that he affects her this way and that she can't control it.

And now, it's no longer "should." She _is_.

He is taken aback. He fumbles for suitable words for a few seconds.

Nora snickers from beside her.

"Al - " he begins.

"If he's so fucking worried about me, tell him that he should say it to my face instead of making some greasy git play messenger," she seethes. "I'm sick of all this tip-toeing around, constantly asking me if I'm okay and telling me to do things he _knows_ I can't - "

"Alia," he interrupts. "Not Albus."

"They can _all_ go to hell!"

Scorpius raises an eyebrow at her words. Nora retreats from the scene, not wanting to become entangled in the apparent mess that is Rose's life.

"If you weren't so wrapped up in yourself, maybe you'd have noticed that they've been trying to help you - "

"They haven't been helping me!"

Compartment doors start to slide open, the occupants curious or annoyed at the commotion she was causing. She might have cared, once. But right now she really couldn't care less.

"Then what do you call their concern?"

"Nothing!"

"Well, considering how much self-pity you've been drowning in, it's no wonder they haven't been able to do much," he sneers.

A split-second reaction, and her knuckles are smarting; his face is red and he's stumbled several steps backwards. It's completely silent except for her heart beating in her ears, she's fighting the urge to look down at her guilty hand as if it had struck without her knowledge and he's staring at her with such disbelief in his grey, grey eyes -

"Fuck you, Malfoy."

She turns around and doesn't look back.

* * *

_A/N: I apologize for the quality. I felt everything was stagnating and decided a bit of action would help. No one can be emo for that long without dying or having a breakdown. She's gotten sick of being ignored, and there's only a thin line between unrequited love and hate. _

_As for the end, she's going back to the compartment. All questions from James and company will be answered with "I had to use the bathroom." I just thought this section would be strange after that scene. _


	8. A Living Hell

Lily applauded her while Alia simply gasped in horror; Hugo gazed at her wide-eyed while James expressed his envy. Albus said nothing.

Oh, Albus said nothing chiefly because he had known all along how big of a git Scorpius was. Really. The Slytherin had been fully aware of how ridiculously infatuated Rose had been all year, yet had chosen to string her along - without _technically _stringing her along, of course, as he would doubtlessly point out - and then ignore her completely for the last two months or so of term.

Well, she wasn't going to have any (more) of it.

(She told herself.)

(Thin line between love and hate her _ass_, as far as she could tell there wasn't even a line to begin with)

Still, she sometimes looks down at her right hand, wondering where that punch had come from.

* * *

Her parents watched her with a trepidation she loathed. She quickly grew _sick_ of their timid glances, their worried looks, how they always went quiet around her, just like the people had school had acted, as if she were some sort of trap waiting to be triggered. Her parents' voices are soft and probing, asking without words if she was all right. She's not sure what answer she could give them.

* * *

Healing is slow. She still thinks of him - a lot. He dominates her just as much as he did before, when she had slept and ate and breathed _Scorpius Malfoy_. However, now she is full of anger. She's bitter that he was able to do that. She's even more bitter that she had let herself come to it.

Her responses are no longer quiet and lifeless. Now she snaps at everything, snipes at everyone, and fumes at the smallest things. She studies with biting vigor and more than once she discovers she barely has the control to restrain the urge to disintegrate something or hex someone. She even makes Hugo cry, that baby (yeah, so what if it was because she threw something at him and she accidentally hit him where it counted?).

The summer is long and slow. She shuts herself in whenever company swings by. She saves her tears for nighttime and does her best to smother them in bedsheets and pillows. But more than anything else she fiercely wishes that she had been born just a bit earlier - June, perhaps. But no, she had been born in August. Early August, but August nonetheless.

When she finally turns seventeen, she celebrates it privately in the backyard, casting _Reducto_ on every piece of junk she can get her hands on. She stays out all night, but when she comes back in, dark circles and all, there's a tug of a smile on her lips. She doesn't see her mother look hopeful as she goes upstairs and collapses onto her bed, exhausted.

* * *

A part of her dreads the coming school year. There's no question that her confrontation with Malfoy will have spread. How much of the rumors will have warped over time?

The trip to Diagon Alley is enough to make her hold her breath; more than half of the returning Hogwarts students she sees either winks at her or nudges their friend and whispers. There are a few Gryffindors who chuckle and pat her on the back, but most of them aren't willing to talk to her quite yet.

She doesn't want to see him.

She so very much wants to see him.

As life will have it, all that adrenaline has been wasted, for she doesn't even hear or see a trace of him. Presumably he had either done his shopping earlier or chose to shop later than everyone else. Perhaps he had even been measured at home and sent someone to do the shopping for him.

She can't tell if she's disappointed or not. She counts it as a victory.

* * *

Rose Weasley can't quite convince herself that she isn't nervous when they enter Platform 9 3/4. She busies herself with arguing with James - a family pastime that neither of them would ever admit that they missed - and fixes her gaze on Lily, who is busy talking to Hugo. There is no question that they are discussing the falling-out between Victoire and Teddy. And to think that at one point she thought they were going to get married.

"Hey, I gotta go," Albus says, interrupting their heated conversation. "I'll catch you guys later."

"You better not bring that git like you did last time," James says with a scowl. "You know, I'm still bitter that Rose beat me to clipping that pasty face of his."

"You're not even allowed on the train anymore." Albus rolls his eyes as he leaves.

"Don't think I might not sneak on for one last chance!" the elder Potter yells as Albus walks away. He looks down at Rose and sighs. "I don't know what Malfoy did to you, but - "

"He didn't do anything. Nothing happened."

"Right, right," he concedes, backing off. Rose glances at him sharply, surprised by his uncharacteristic surrender, but she doesn't comment on it. She doesn't want any attention on that matter.

"Rosie, you coming or not?" Hugo asks from a window. While she had been standing there, Hugo and Lily had already boarded the train and chosen a place to sit.

She looks up at James, and remembering all the time they had spent together - good and bad - she feels a pang of sadness knowing that he will no longer be having adventures with them at school. He seems to have been feeling the same sadness; he sweeps her into a tight hug. She blinks tears back.

"Feel free to Malfoy's life a living hell for me," he grins at her as she climbs on board.

"For myself," she corrects him. His grin widens.

She rushes into their compartment and plasters her face against the window; the train has started to move. James follows them for as long as he can, waving and yelling advice that her mother will no doubt scold him for.

_For myself,_ she thinks. _Well, for you too, then._

So when Albus and Scorpius pass by their compartment, the former tapping on the door to say hello, the first thing she does is take out her wand -

And demonstrate a charm her brother and cousin had been discussing, ignoring the other two entirely.

She might not know how to make his life a living hell, but she can do what he did to make hers that way.


	9. When I'm With Him

_A/N: aaaaand this ends the last of the three updates I managed to crank out in the past day! I haven't written this much in a while. It feels good. _

_Chapter 10 was the first new chapter since 2009 (or so. I don't remember.) so please forgive me for the quality of writing before "Turns Around" - NOT IMPLYING THAT CHAPTER 10 IS THAT MUCH BETTER but I do think I've improved a bit in the past 2 years. _

_**I'VE COMPLETELY CHANGED THE 3RD CHAPTER. **__It used to be called "Nothing" but I've changed it to "At Her Worst." I think I'll tweak the other chapters to make them make more sense. I've also touched the chapter "Relapse." I still don't like it, but it's better than it used to be. I'll try to revise all the other chapters to make them more bearable. _

* * *

His name was Kevin, and according to Alia, he was absolutely adorable, an exquisite male specimen. Rose, though she was willing to admit that the boy was rather attractive, thought that her friend was only saying so for her benefit, because he was showing a great deal of interest in her.

He had peculiar brown hair and a light spray of freckles. He was a year younger than her but was only a couple inches taller. His smile was part of him and his eyes were bright, though their color was dark. He was smart - not as smart as her, of course - and was from Ravenclaw. He had once played Quidditch but had dropped it in order to stick to his books.

Yes, she thought he was good-looking.

No, she was not in love with him - how old were they, seven?

No, she didn't know if or when he was going to ask her out, and for that matter she wasn't even vaguely interested.

Well, that last part was a lie.

He was attractive, and he was nice to her. He made her feel more normal. He made her smile. They studied together, sometimes, and whenever he got something wrong - and Rose was not one to let a mistake go unfixed - he had the grace to take it with a laugh.

So when he asked her for company on a Hogsmeade outing, she did not refuse.

She learned his mother had also attended Hogwarts, and that he was half Asian - that would explain why his brown hair seemed almost silvery - and that he had admired her even before she had punched that Malfoy guy on the train before last summer. He figured he was a rich git anyway.

She smiled and pretended that her stomach didn't tighten a little when he mentioned his name. After all, being back at school reminded her of tracing letters into errant corners of papers that she never intended to let anyone see.

She began to like him. She began to miss him when she didn't see him for a few days at a time. She anticipated seeing him in the hallways or at meals.

She liked his laugh. She liked his easy smiles. She even liked when she caught him staring at her when he thought she wasn't looking, and she liked when he sucked in his cheeks, his own way of blushing. She liked spending time going over schoolwork in the library with him, and she liked how one night, his fingers had managed to intertwine with hers before he had kissed her cheek for the first time.

Alia and Lily smirked whenever they saw the two of them together. Hugo always looked embarrassed and never made eye contact; a few other members of the family whom they weren't particularly close to but still attended Hogwarts smiled at Rose and her new boyfriend.

She ignored all looks Albus threw at her.

She did everything in her power to stay away from Malfoy.

* * *

"You look tired," he remarked, sitting next to her. "Is that Slytherin arse getting in your way again?"

"He's found the sense to stay away from me," Rose said loftily as she finished off the last of her homework.

"I would too, if you caved my face in," he chuckled, and kissed her nose.

He learned that she had given away her first kiss to a Muggle boy named Gerry when she was ten. He learned that her favorite cousin was James and that she wanted to be like her mother when she was older.

She never told him why she punched Malfoy. She never told him that Albus used to be her best friend in the entire world, let alone just her favorite cousin. She never told him how terribly, inexplicably in love she had been with the boy she was now so resolute in ignoring.

_(He never learns that sometimes, when they kiss, she finds herself wondering what it would be like with _him,_ and in her guilt kisses him all the more fiercely. He never learns that sometimes, despite the overwhelming guilt and self-disgust, she even pretends.)_

* * *

_A/N: Rereading this story, I see exactly how godawful emo I made her. I want to fix it a little. Anyway, check out the brand new chapter 3. Reviews are also much appreciated :)_


	10. The End

_A/N: hey folks, you might've noticed that **I've killed off the chapters "Names," "Thirteen Things," and "All the Time."** "Names" was pretty flimsy, so no loss there. "Thirteen" was even more useless. I got rid of "All the Time" because I've changed my mind about where the plot will go. I started this four years ago, didn't update it for years, then came back to it. I've already tweaked chapters 1, 4, 5, and 6 - enough to warrant a re-read, perhaps. Maybe I'll throw in a chapter to make up for the culls. _

_Anyway, enjoy._

* * *

No, he wasn't miffed. He wasn't even fazed. He was simply surprised that she was going out with Kevin Freeman; with her attitude and looks, it was a mystery anyone could have been attracted to her, let alone pursue her.

No, he wasn't jealous. At all. The mere notion was ridiculous. Perhaps he was a bit disappointed that he couldn't keep his little diversion going, that the game was prematurely over - she had not reached the breaking point he had been coolly anticipating - but there was nothing beyond that. But it wouldn't be anything he couldn't handle. Besides, there were so many other girls he could amuse himself with.

But while he was on the subject, he didn't think Freeman was that good-looking. He was rather scrawny; not much taller than the Weasley girl. He looked different, peculiarly unlike most people he had met; he wouldn't be surprised if girls thought he was attractive because he looked "exotic." It was likelier that there was bad breeding somewhere. He probably wasn't even that smart, probably stupider than she was. He didn't even make up for it by being good enough to be on the Quidditch team. She obviously hadn't aimed very high; she could've done better -

No. She couldn't have. They were more or less on the same level - the Ravenclaw was above her, even. Freeman was probably one of those pleasant dimwits, the kind who was friendly to everyone and treated their girlfriends better than they deserved. Not at all interesting, even to the point of being dull or boring. Definitely not the kind of person he would've expected her to go out with. He would've expected her to choose someone who could and would challenge her. Someone who could make her eyes spark.

He vaguely missed their fights. He missed the rush, the anger, the ire, the exhilaration of watching someone lose control, the energy that came with sparring wits. There was no one else he could do that with; none of the others in her family were willing to take him head-on like that without brandishing wands or fists, and even if there were, he doubted any of them could give him the satisfaction that she did.

What? No. He derived absolutely no satisfaction from her. And even if he did, it had only come in the form of having some fun toying around with her. That was all. Besides, it wasn't so important to him that he would go around looking for another opponent.

None of it had meant anything. Everything had been a game. But it was a game he was sure he would get back.

* * *

Scorpius caught her in the hallway, nonchalant, aloof, a hint spiteful - the way he had always been around her. She was giving directions to a couple of lost first-years when he sauntered up to her with a drawl,

"Having fun babysitting, Weasley?"

She tensed, finished giving directions to the first-years who quickly made themselves scarce, and without turning to look at him, strode down the hallway. He followed her with a smirk, ignoring the twinge of surprise in his gut _(she had never been one to turn away from a challenge...right?)_

"Didn't know you were the type," he continued, catching up to her. He could sense the anger coiling her muscles and the degree of satisfaction it gave him was nearly unsettling. "Seeing as you have enough trouble taking care of yourself."

"Leave me alone, Slytherin."

_Ah, here we go._

"You were the most pitiful thing last year," he went on. "You should've seen yourself. Although you never were that much better to begin with - "

"Remember when I punched you on the train?" she snapped. "When are you going to live that one down, I wonder?"

Despite the inward wince - both his peers and enemies alike had yet to forget - his grin spread wider on his face; he had missed this, this was the way it had been before. This was right. This was normal.

"Before you live down last year," he replied easily.

No response. He frowned the slightest bit; perhaps that last comment should've been more barbed, more vicious so as to instigate a reaction. So for his next jab, he swung low.

"I heard you have a boyfriend now," he taunted. "Pretty amazing how that happ - "

"Holy shit, Malfoy! Could you please fuck off?" She whipped around, her eyes as bright as they had been before - no, brighter. _Excellent excellent excellent_ "Whatever happened to _let's-pretend-Rose-doesn't-exist_? Is there any way we could go back to that?"

He blanched.

"What?"

"Just get the hell out of my way!"

And for the first time in a long time, he stumbled, stammering in his head for something to say, some sort of retort, _anything_ -

"Why should I move aside for some dirty half Mudbl - "

The split-second noticing that there was someone approaching him from behind, and he was thrown against the wall, the force of the spell hitting him hard, blinding his vision bright white and black with other colors in between. And still his smirk stayed on his face, because this was so _satisfying_ and he had _missed_ it -

"You. _Fucking_. Arse."

Then suddenly everything was all wrong, because it wasn't her voice, it wasn't her - it hadn't been her who had cast _Impedimenta_ on him, it had been someone else; things _weren't_ normal. They weren't the same. And sitting up unsteadily on the stone floor, dizzy and not thinking very clearly, eyes half closed and dazed, something whispered in the back of his head that they never would be again.

"We're leaving. _Now._" Her voice sounded clipped, angry, annoyed._  
_

"He just tried to call you a fucking _Mud_ - that bastard - fucking _bitch_ - worthless - _he just called you_ - " Seething, speech-tangling fury not from her, but from Freeman. Scorpius knew. It could be no one else.

"I fight my own fights," she hissed back at him. "We're _leaving._" He could hear a disgusted scowl in her voice directed at him. "He isn't worth the time or effort."

Fleet and angry footsteps faded echoing down the hallway. He wasn't sure who had seen this unfold, and he didn't know how long he ended up sitting there, disoriented from the strength of the jinx. Or maybe it was from the truth.

He had thought that with that blow she had struck on the train the end of sixth year, things had returned to normal. That they were going to go back to the way they had been for years. That he'd have that rivalry back; that that punch heralded a new beginning looping back to the past.

He realized now that it had heralded the end.

* * *

_A/N: please review :)_


	11. Silent

_A/N: I've made major modifications to chapter two, least of which is the title of said chapter. Worth re-reading, in my opinion, but to sum it up, said changes make Alia make much more sense and not be so shallow. I've made her not be such a ditz. _

_Thank you for the kind reviews :)_

* * *

Albus couldn't decide whether to be angry with Rose or Scorpius. It was ridiculous - in the kindest sense of the word, of course - that she let herself be so at his mercy when nothing had actually happened between them aside from their savage fights. As for Scorpius, Albus sometimes wondered how they had ever become such close friends when the Malfoy had proven himself to be one of the most sadistic people Albus had the misfortune to meet.

He had tried to bring it up, once, towards the start of sixth year, when Rose's demeanor and actions made it clear that she no longer had it in her to spar with Scorpius anymore.

"What's up with you and Rose?" he had asked as casually as he could. "You guys don't really fight anymore."

"Nothing," the Malfoy had answered offhandedly.

"Really?" Albus had prodded.

"It's nothing," he had repeated, still supremely detached. "She fancies me is all."

Albus had concealed his astonishment. His friend had been far more perceptive than he could ever have expected him to be, but that was only a small part of his shock. It was how dispassionate he was about it. After years of going head-to-head with Rose, the only emotion Scorpius had to offer upon discovering that she was enamored with him was indifference. It bewildered and confused Albus. He had no idea what to think or feel.

So when Scorpius had begun to use Rose's emotions against her, purposely and cruelly antagonizing her, Albus had been so at a loss of what to do that all he had done was watch one of his best friends destroy the other. On several _(only several, a voice in his head whispered viciously)_ occasions he had expressed his opinions on the matter; that Scorpius should stop stringing Rose on, that he had no idea how much he was hurting her. The Malfoy had shrugged off every single word without so much as a hint of remorse or sign that he had heard Albus' words at all.

Albus had never known Scorpius to be so callous, and he simply _could not understand why._ In the meantime his beloved cousin kept retreating further and further into herself, morphing into a person he did not know.

Albus knew that if he severed ties with Scorpius, the Malfoy would become even more malicious than he already was. The Potter had no choice but to sit helplessly in the sidelines, hoping like hell that Rose would rally and throw Scorpius off from her shoulders.

"Is there at least any chance you'll stop saying 'Mudblood?'" he had asked tiredly. Albus hadn't gotten an answer from him, but the incidences had duly decreased; he only ever said it in front of her.

When he heard that Rose had punched Scorpius in the face in the middle of the hallway on the train trip back home, he had said nothing to his friend but "serves you right" and ignored him for the rest of the journey, immersing himself in smug silence. But he couldn't quite forgive himself for having not punched Malfoy for her himself.

When he heard that Rose had started to go out with Kevin Freeman, he had masked his hurt with his surprise. Once upon a time, he would've been the first to know about this. She would've - _should've_, he thought automatically - told him before anybody else. It hurt even more when she ignored his attempts, however weak, to talk to her. He felt disowned.

When he heard that her Ravenclaw boyfriend had jinxed Scorpius on the way to class because he had called her a half-Mudblood, he looked down and kept quiet. The other Slytherins assumed this was so either because he was torn between Scorpius and Rose or because he was humiliated that his best friend had been so easily brought down. They didn't know that he was excruciatingly ashamed of himself; ashamed that he had done nothing to help her when they had been so close for such a long time, when she had defended him in the past, even as children; ashamed that someone who barely knew her, had no ties to her but light romantic ones, had stood up for her in a way that he, Albus, never had but should have. He fiercely wished that he had been the one to jinx Scorpius. He wished he hadn't been so silent.

He was so wrapped up in this that it didn't strike him to ask his best friend why he had begun to pay attention to Rose again in the first place.


	12. Tension

_A/N: I accidentally deleted this chapter, so this is a rewrite (basically the same thing) as best as I can remember. However, I strongly suggest you reread it because I did change it up a little. _

* * *

Things returned to their normal rhythms soon enough. At least as normal as they could get; she and Kevin had fought when she refused to tell him why she had shut herself in her dormitory for three days following the incident with Malfoy. Even after they made up, the question was still there, shadowed by how she hadn't told him what had gone on between her and Scorpius to begin with; why the Slytherin had brought up an insult as strong as "Mudblood."

She would never tell him. She couldn't.

James would have snickered and called it belligerent sexual tension had it been anyone but Malfoy. She laughed at the thought so she could stop thinking about the encounter, wondering why it had happened, and the guilt that came with it all.

* * *

"Rose?"

She flinches at the sound of his voice and twitches away from his hand when he touches her shoulder. She doesn't need to turn around to know that this rejection hurt him, but frankly she thinks he's deserved it.

"Good morning, Albus," Alia greets him with all the warmth Rose should've given him. "It's nice to see you again - you haven't eaten with us in weeks."

The air between Rose and Albus seems to congeal as the anger and awkwardness hang ever heavier. She can't tell if Alia's noticed this, or if she knows why Albus has been gone - and to be honest, even Rose isn't entirely sure. It'd be too easy for him to say that he's been more absorbed in Slytherin matters and friends this year, but it'd be too obvious an insult to Rose when they were supposed to be the best of friends.

"I've been busy. "

The excuse is annoyingly flimsy and predictable, made worse by the rigid smile that accompanies it.

"What do you want, Potter?" Her tone is harsher than expected, let alone her words.

"Rose!" Alia says, half reproach and half surprise.

"I didn't - I mean," he stammers. It's one of the few times she's ever seen him lose his composure and it's oh-so satisfying. "It's been...I don't know, I only wanted...I just thought I'd..."

She waits for him to finish his sentence, but he never does. Instead, he leaves after muttering a goodbye to Alia.

_Coward_.

(The vehemence of that thought surprises even her.)

"What's gotten into you?" Alia demands. "Did you two have a row? I assumed you were spending time with him outside meals since you were so close. When was the last time you talked? Or did something happen over the summer you aren't telling me?"

Rose is taken aback by the unexpected barrage of questions.

"Nothing happened."

And as usual, Alia doesn't press.

* * *

They're outside and he's playing with her hair. It's far past curfew next to the lake in November, but the cold doesn't matter when they have a jar of fire, two mugs of butterbeer, and shared body heat.

"So what are you going to do after you leave Hogwarts?" he asks.

"I don't know." She takes a sip of her butterbeer. "What about you?"

"I'm not sure yet, but I'm thinking I'll work at the Ministry. Department of Magical Law Enforcement, maybe."

"You, work at the Ministry?" she snorts. "Funny. You've nearly broken as many rules as my cousin James."

"But I never got caught," he grins with a roguishness that makes her melt a bit inside. "As far as the professors are concerned, I'm as spotless as Alia. Besides," - his grin widens - "at least I know how to have fun, unlike someone I know. It's like you're an adult already, nothing but business and school. All work and no play makes Rose a dull - "

She interrupts him with a swat and mock-scowls.

"I know how to have fun!" She sniffs. "And I'm not old."

"Right," he snickers. "Rose Weasley, seventeen going on seventy - "

She casts _aguamenti_ at his head, splashing his face and dousing his hair. He sits up with a yelp and the water flows down to soak his shirt. She laughs at his expression, nearly spilling her mug; he growls and bowls her over, tickling her ribs. She shrieks and writhes, stops him with her lips on his. He beams down at her and showers her face with kisses, from her forehead to her nose to her cheek to her jaw. She shivers when he brushes her collarbone; the atmosphere shifts from playful to full of static energy, nervous, coiled.

And suddenly his mouth's on her neck and he's pressing against her; his hands are firm around her waist and she doesn't stop him as his hand creeps up her shirt, the warmth is more than a little dizzying, makes her bite her lip and breath hitch; her fingers are digging into his shoulder blades as his lips go lower but she isn't stopping him, she looks down at him and the firelight flickers, turns his wet silvery brown hair gold.

She freezes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he chants, withdrawing immediately. "I know I went too far, I didn't mean to push you - "

"It isn't - I don't - " She shakes her head rapidly, rattled and flustered. "It - it wasn't you."

There's silence as thoughts whirl in her head; his gentle dark brown eyes are all too concerned, full of understanding he doesn't know doesn't make sense and sympathy she doesn't deserve. She finds herself resenting how nice he is, wishing he wasn't so she wouldn't feel so _dirty_ for thinking, for wishing -

No, no, no. She flings those thoughts away and closes her eyes.

Inhale, exhale. Finally she meets his worried gaze.

"I'm sorry," he repeats softly.

"It wasn't your fault," she says, her voice steadier than she feels. "I promise." She accentuates her assurance with a kiss, pulling him close, and soon they're where they left off -

But despite keeping her gaze pinned to the sky and away from him, she can't forget the image of white-gold hair. So when they return to the castle, there's tension between them, tight and smothering, and she pulls away from him when he tries to say goodbye. They don't talk for three days, and when they do he's all apologies. But she thinks she must be feeling more guilt than him by a long shot and can't help but feel their roles should be reversed.

It's only until after the winter holidays she breaks it off.


	13. Like She Did

_A/N: thanks to those who favorite'd and put this on their alert list :)_

_I accidentally deleted chapter 12 so I had to rewrite it. Ugh. **Take another look at chapter 12 if you've read it "already"** as there's a very, very important addition/alteration. Also, can a____nyone guess who Kevin Freeman is?_

* * *

She's ashamed, truly she is. Yet she's plowed through the guilt and managed to divert the attention to him - after all, everyone's more than ready to believe her over Kevin - by implications _(read: lies)_ about his being too handsy for his own good. All she had to do when people asked was let her lips tremble and eyes water for them to nod understanding or pat her shoulder sympathetically and leave her alone. No one suspected that it was all her.

She had never been good at lying and her acting even more deplorable. It was the fact that she didn't have to pretend that stung.

* * *

_It wasn't you._

_How can it not have been me? Rose, I'm sorry, I said I was sorry, I promise I won't push again, honest -_

_It's me. It really is._

* * *

There were enough Ravenclaws who threw her dirty looks that she began to avoid running into any of them, be it in the hallways or the Great Hall. There were also enough Gryffindors who were friends with them to defend her and tell them that it really did have to do with Freeman, he had been dirty and thrust himself on her.

The glares receded. It only amplified the guilt.

* * *

_Kevin, please stop. I told you it has nothing to do with you. It wasn't your fault. You didn't push me too far._

_Is it because I'm too young?_

Silence.

* * *

She ran into him a fortnight later in one of the corridors. There had been no one else around. Her heart had sped up at least ten notches, her hands starting to sweat and bringing her to curl her fingers tight into her palm. She had done her best to keep her eyes off him, but he had stopped in the middle of the hallway, not moving even as she passed him except for turning around to wrap his hand around her left shoulder.

"Why did you lie?" he asked.

"Lie about what?" she asked back, her heart crashing madly against her chest. _How could he know?_

"You said it had nothing to do with me," he said. "But my friends have been asking me about that...about November." Painful hesitation. "Alia told me."

"Should I have told you it was because you couldn't keep it in your pants instead?" Her lie visibly tore at him and she could barely hide that they were doing the same to her. "I'm sorry for wanting to let you down easy."_  
_

She shoved her way past him, nearly unable to hold up the vicious scowl until she was out of his sight as she ran away before he could see her cry.

* * *

_I'm not even a year behind you! I turn seventeen in March -_

_I'm sorry, I really am. I should go -_

_Rose, please -_

_I'll see you around._

* * *

"He really liked you, you know." Alia says quietly.

Rose doesn't answer, instead continuing to do her homework. She forcefully pushes the memory of last week's encounter with Freeman from her mind.

"Since his fourth year."

She stays silent. They had only been together from October to Christmas. He was still sixteen and didn't know any better.

_Like you did._

She bites her lip. She tells herself that it came from the words, not the voice it had come in (white-gold and clouds). She steels herself - it shows on her face in the form of a scowl, though she doesn't notice it - and drives her discomfort into malice.

_Far worse, too._

_Shut up._

* * *

She eventually hears of him getting involved with someone in his House mid-February. The next time they see each other, both of them pretend they don't see the other. It hurts more than she has the right to feel, but she thinks this must be where it starts to heal.

* * *

___A/N: anyway, please please please review (____I'm still not sure if it's the best direction to go in - thoughts? Was it inconsistent with recent characterization developments?_) and enjoy your New Years ^^


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